


No Rules in Breakable Heaven

by parkkate



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (due to alcohol), Auror Harry Potter, Community: hp_drizzle, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, HP Drizzle Fest 2020, Humor, M/M, Magical Accidents, Mildly Dubious Consent, Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Oblivious Harry Potter, Secrets, Sharing a Bed, mpreg (but not really and it's neither Harry or Draco)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25840063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkkate/pseuds/parkkate
Summary: When a magical rainstorm reveals everyone's deepest desires, Harry learns far more about his friends and colleagues than he ever wanted to know. Worst of all, he suddenly has to face his own deepest desire.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 19
Kudos: 638
Collections: HP Drizzle Fest 2020





	No Rules in Breakable Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompt: A magical rainstorm makes people reveal their deepest desires
> 
> Thank you so much to my alpha and beta, who were so patient and brilliant! This fic wouldn't exist without you two!
> 
> And thank you to the mods for doing such an amazing job!

“What the fuck  _ was  _ that? Ugh, now my hair is ruined!”

Harry rolls his eyes at Parkinson’s shrieking. 

“You’re lucky I’m wearing waterproof mascara. I’m never visiting you at work ever again!”

“It was just a bit of rain,” Malfoy drawls, slicking back his already slicked back hair.

“Just a bit of rain,” Parkinson huffs. “In the middle of the Atrium?”

“The Department for Weather Control is already on it,” Hermione says, wringing out one of her sleeves.

“Hey, do you mind? That carpet is new.”

Instead of replying, Hermione vanishes the little puddle with a flick of her wand. 

“Thanks,” Harry mutters, wondering why they ended up in  _ his  _ office. They all work here. Well, most of them do.

“I’m not picking you up next time you want to go for lunch, Draco” Parkinson barks. “This place is a death trap!”

“This is the safest place in the country,” Hermione shoots back. “Well, most of the time.”

“The Unspeakables must be experimenting again,” Harry muses.

“I really wish they would be more careful,” Hermione says. “At least there weren’t any explosions this time.” She pauses when she turns to Ron, who’s just standing there, staring at the wall. “Are you alright?”

“I—I don’t feel so good.”

“What’s wrong?”

He does look a little pale. 

“I don’t know. Oh, Merlin.” His hands fly to his stomach. “Hermione, I—I think—”

“Oh, goodness!”

“Please, not in my office,” Harry groans.

“Come here,” Hermione says, draping one of Ron’s arms around her shoulders to support him. They stagger out into the corridor with Parkinson at their heels.

“I need to go fix my hair,” she snaps at Malfoy. “I have a business meeting in an hour. Find someone else to go to lunch with.”

And so there were only two left.

“I could go to lunch with you,” Harry offers. 

Malfoy looks him up and down, as though he’s trying to decide if Harry is worthy of accompanying him. And then he shrugs.

“You must be bored out of your mind,” Malfoy says with an air of smugness.

“I won’t be on desk duty forever.”

“After what you pulled on your last mission? I’m surprised Robards didn’t suspend you.”

Harry sighs, knowing arguing is pointless. Not necessarily because Malfoy is right. It’s just that gossip around here spreads fast; within two hours, everyone at the Ministry had known what had happened. And even if they hadn’t, Malfoy would have. That, unfortunately, comes with his job. Being Robards’ assistant gives him access to all the files he can bury his nose in. 

“Just, please, at least  _ try  _ to improve your atrocious handwriting. Trying to decipher it is giving me headaches.”

“I thought you liked challenges,” Harry grins.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“You know me so well.”

Just as they reach the cafeteria, they notice some kind of commotion going on. They stop when an Unspeakable with a clipboard comes rushing over to them.

“Are you okay?” 

“Err… Why wouldn’t we be?” Harry asks.

“You were in the Atrium when it started raining, weren’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“And you don’t feel any different?”

Harry looks over at Malfoy, who is looking back at him with the same nonplussed expression. They both shake their heads.

“Alright, not showing any symptoms yet,” the Unspeakable murmurs as he scribbles on his clipboard.

“Yet?” Malfoy says with a raised eyebrow.

“We will release an internal memo shortly,” the Unspeakable says. “We are trying to figure out the exact ramifications.” He hesitates. “But it seems that rainstorm is causing… Well, it seems like it’s revealing the deepest desires of the people who came in contact with the rain.”

“ _ What? _ ”

Harry blinks, taking in Malfoy’s panicked face. 

“Yeah, I know,” the Unspeakable says. “It’s already caused a lot of—”

“I have to go,” Malfoy announces curtly, already turning on his heels and darting out of sight.

“That was weird,” Harry murmurs.

“Not really,” the Unspeakable says, scribbling on his clipboard again. “That reaction has been very common. Apparently, people aren’t too keen on having their deepest desires displayed out in the open.”

Oh. Well, when he puts it like that…

“Um, yeah. I, err, I better get back to work,” Harry says awkwardly.

“Of course. Please let us know when you notice any symptoms.”

* * *

There aren’t any symptoms. None at all. It’s been almost 24 hours and nothing has happened. At least not to him. 

“It’s not my fault,” he hears Ron shout as he walks up to Hermione’s office.

“I know it’s not, but—Oh, hello Harry.”

“Am I interrupting something?”

It’s very obvious that he has, judging from Ron’s blotchy face and Hermione’s balled fists.

“What’s going on?”

Neither of them answers until Ron lets out a groan and starts massaging his temple. “Robards suspended me from active duty.”

“He what? Why?”

“Because apparently,” Hermione says heatedly, “your best friend is pregnant!”

Harry stares at her. “What? You’re pregnant? Oh my god, Hermione, that’s—”

“Not me! Him!”

“What?” Harry’s mouth falls open. “I don’t—I don’t understand.” He gapes at Ron. “You’re pregnant? How is that even possible?”

“I’m not pregnant,” Ron practically yells, his cheeks matching the colour of his hair. “I’m just, err—”

“Showing symptoms of pregnancy,” Hermione finishes, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Harry still has no idea what they’re talking about, wondering if they’re taking the piss.

“It’s not like I wanted this to happen,” Ron says with a scowl. 

“Hold on, hold on,” Harry says, stepping between them. “Can somebody please explain?”

“Apparently,” Hermione says through gritted teeth, “Ron’s deepest desire is to have a baby.”

“Oh.” Huh. That is not what Harry was expecting. “Is that so bad?”

“Yeah,” Ron says, “is that so bad?”

“Of course it’s not,” Hermione snaps. “But we had a plan, remember? We’re still in our twenties!”

“So?” Harry snaps his mouth shut when Hermione gives him a look.

“We’re not ready yet!”

“Says who?”

“Says me!”

“Right, because of the plan!” Ron throws his hands in the air in exasperation. “How long are we supposed to wait? Until you’re  _ finally  _ Minister of Magic?” He turns to Harry. “Because  _ apparently _ , that’s  _ her  _ deepest desire.”

Oh. Oh boy.

“I woke up this morning to formal Minister’s robes hanging in our wardrobe that were definitely not there last night,” Ron grumbles. “So imagine my surprise when—”

“Imagine  _ my  _ surprise when I find my husband hanging over the toilet, suffering from morning sickness!”

Harry takes a step back as the scowling contest begins.

“Yeah, okay, um, so, I don’t think you need me to figure this one out. Bye!”

He definitely made the right call, he thinks, when he hears more shouting and the door of Hermione’s office banging shut. 

Wow, so Ron wants to be a dad. Harry doesn’t know why he’s so surprised. Ron would make an excellent father. But he himself is so far from settling down and having a family, it didn’t really enter his mind that his friends might want that. Or, rather, one of his friends.

It makes him think about what he wants and why he hasn’t shown any symptoms yet. Maybe there isn’t anything he wants? No, that’s bollocks. Everybody wants something. Is there something wrong with him? Then again, Hermione hasn’t shown any symptoms; the manifestation of her deepest desire was the robes in her wardrobe. Huh. So maybe he should be on the lookout for something in his office or at home that seems out of place. He has no idea what it could be, though. He never really thinks that hard about what he wants. 

Well, what he wants right now is a cup of coffee. He pauses when he sees white-blond hair in front of the coffee machine; that hair looks… different today. 

“Morning, Malfoy,” he says, as casually as he can. 

Malfoy jumps, nearly spilling his coffee as he turns around to stare at Harry. He puts it down on the counter.

“Um, morning.”

Harry examines his face, the way it suddenly doesn’t look as pointy anymore. It’s his hair, Harry realises. It’s not slicked back. Instead, blond strands cover his forehead that reach down to his eyes.

“Ran out of hair gel?” Harry asks.

Malfoy gives him a weird look, one that almost resembles fear, before he darts out of the kitchen.

“Wait,” Harry calls after him. “You forgot your coffee.”

Weird, Harry thinks. What’s gotten into him? 

He pours himself some coffee, grabs Malfoy’s mug and strolls into his office as though Malfoy didn’t just run away from him.

“I thought you might want this,” he says, making Malfoy jump yet again. What is going on with him today? Is it because of the rainstorm? 

“Any symptoms yet?” he asks, taking a sip of his coffee.

Malfoy averts his eyes and stares down at the scroll of parchment in front of him as though it holds the answer to Harry’s question.

“Do  _ you _ have any?” he asks in a quiet voice.

Harry looks at his mug, not sure why he’s feeling embarrassed about not showing any symptoms at all. Maybe he should change the subject. Clearly, Malfoy doesn’t want to talk about it.

“It’s, um, it’s nice,” Harry says. “Your hair.”

Malfoy’s eyes snap to his; he looks gobsmacked.

“I like it like this,” Harry shrugs, as though it’s common for him to compliment Malfoy. “It makes you less… um…” Yeah, he’s always been pants at giving compliments.

“As if I need advice on my hair from you of all people,” Malfoy snorts. 

Harry laughs, in spite of himself, and leans against Malfoy’s desk. It really does suit him. Sure, he was attractive before — as if Harry doesn’t notice that on a daily basis — but now, he’s  _ really  _ attractive. You know, objectively. 

“Is there anything you need?” Malfoy asks, taking the mug from his desk and leaning back in his chair, “Or are you just here to keep me from getting any work done?”

“Aww, are you saying I’m distracting?” Harry grins.

“I’m saying you’re a pain in the arse!”

Gosh, winding Malfoy up is even funnier now than it used to be. Especially when his cheeks turn that pretty shade of pink. 

“I would never dream of keeping you from your incredibly boring paperwork,” Harry says, his voice low, while he drapes himself over Malfoy’s desk.

“Don’t you have some paperwork to fill out yourself?” Malfoy asks. “If I remember correctly, and I always do, you were to hand it in yesterday.”

“You’re no fun,” Harry groans, picking himself up.

“You’re clogging up our system, Potter!”

Harry snorts. “Whatever you say, Moneypenny,” he quips and turns to leave.

“Moneypenny, huh? Does that make you John Bond?”

Harry stills. Then slowly turns back around. “It’s James Bond,” he says, surprised. “But how do you—”

“I’m not some ignorant buffoon,” Malfoy drawls. “I do own a—a—” He frowns as he’s struggling to find the right word. “A television,” he finally says triumphantly.

“And you watched James Bond?”

Malfoy shrugs. He’s trying to act nonchalant again. It’s so fucking endearing.

“You didn’t watch it because I said I like James Bond, did you?”

“Please,” Malfoy snorts. “The world doesn’t revolve around you. I thought it was quite boring to be perfectly honest. Some generic hero saving the world.” He makes a dismissive gesture. “We don’t need any more of those.”

And just like that, the grin is back on Harry’s face. “Because I’m the only hero you need?”

Harry bursts out laughing when Malfoy throws his quill at him. “See you later, Malfoypenny. I’ve got important paperwork to fill out.”

* * *

In a shocking turn of events, Harry does not fill out said paperwork. But it’s hardly his fault. The Ministry is so chaotic, nobody is able to concentrate on their work. The rainstorm in the Atrium still isn’t under control, even after three days, and the consequences are horrifying. Harry learns far more about his colleagues than he ever wanted to know. Nora, a fellow Auror, had to be sent to St Mungo’s because she suddenly had gills and could only breathe underwater. Apparently, her deepest desire was to be a fish. Ben, who works in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, came to work looking like someone who had just escaped from a sex-dungeon; he couldn’t get out of the full-body latex suit he woke up in. Harry didn’t ask any questions as he stepped into the lift. The memory still haunts him.

By day four, half the Ministry has requested to work from home. Including Malfoy. Which makes Harry’s days so much duller. Technically, he’s now free of any distractions and could get more work done than usual. But in reality, his thoughts keep revolving around what Malfoy is hiding. What could be so bad he doesn’t even want to come to work? Harry has to find out. The thought of knowing Malfoy’s deepest desire is so intriguing, he can barely sit still. He’s itching to go to Malfoy’s flat. Granted, it’s a horrible invasion of privacy… but let’s be honest here, Malfoy would absolutely do the same in his situation.

Not being able to help himself, he leaves work thirty minutes early, stops by the restaurant he knows Malfoy likes and smiles innocently at him when he opens the door, presenting the takeaway.

“I thought you might want some dinner.”

“Dinner,” Malfoy deadpans. He looks shocked, his hands flying up to his hair, pressing it down on his forehead.

“Yeah, I thought you might not be feeling well,” Harry shrugs, squeezing past Malfoy and strolling into the kitchen, “since you didn’t show up at work.”

“I was working from home,” Malfoy snaps, “which you very well know.”

Harry suppresses a chuckle and keeps his back to Malfoy. “Oh? Why were you working from home?”

“Because—” Malfoy sounds livid. Harry can picture him perfectly with his face flushed and his hands balled into fists.

“Ah, don’t want anyone to find out about your deepest desire?” Harry grins, looking over his shoulder. 

Malfoy gapes at him, his face, indeed, flushed.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Yeah, right,” Malfoy snorts. 

“Is it that bad?” Harry asks, trying not to sound too eager.

“Depends on how you define bad,” Malfoy says, taking a seat on one of the barstools and watching Harry unpack the food.

“Well, it can’t be worse than Ben from International Magical Cooperation. Or Francine. Did you hear about her?”

Malfoy slowly shakes his head.

“Boy,” Harry laughs, grabbing two plates. “She has a mole on her face now.”

“And? That doesn’t sound bad. People get moles. How do we even know it’s from the rain?”

“Because,” Harry sniggers, “it’s the exact same shape as Mia’s. You know, Mia, who works in the cafeteria?”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah. Seems like Francine is madly in love with her.”

Harry pauses with the two plates in his hands as he turns around and finally gets a good look at Malfoy. He’s frowning at the table. 

Harry sits down opposite him, quietly examining his face. “Is, err—Did you experience something similar?”

Malfoy’s eyes dart to Harry’s, his face unreadable. “We’re not talking about that,” he snaps, pulling one of the plates towards him. He bites into the wrap as though it personally insulted him.

“Okay, okay,” Harry sighs. “Will you at least come to work again tomorrow?”

Malfoy swallows and gives him a sceptical look. “Why?”

“Because I’m bored.”

“Have you considered doing your actual work?”

Harry makes a face and takes a bite as well. “It’s not the same—”  _ —without you _ , he almost says. 

“Miss me that much?” Malfoy says with a grin.

“I would say an absolutely reasonable and normal amount,” Harry says with a shrug. He mentally cheers at the blush on Malfoy’s cheeks. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if I woke up tomorrow with your name across my chest or something.”

That makes Malfoy pause.

  
“You know, because of the rain.”

Malfoy puts down his wrap and stares at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“Why are you surprised?” Harry laughs. “You know bickering with you is the highlight of my workday.” 

Something flashes across Malfoy’s features, something Harry doesn’t quite catch. And then he suddenly stands.

“I need you to go, Potter.”

“What? But I—”

“Now.” He looks serious, his pale eyes shining piercingly.

“Um, okay.” Harry gets up, feeling confused and awkward. He pauses at the door. “Will you come to work tomorrow?”

Malfoy says nothing at first, his expression torn.

“Please?”

“Ugh.” Malfoy lets out a dramatic sigh. “Fine!” Under his breath, he adds, “I’m going to regret this.”

“You won’t,” Harry says cheerfully. “Alright, see you tomorrow, Malfoy.”

* * *

Malfoy does seem to regret it. Harry can only guess, though, because he hasn’t seen him all morning. Well, apart from a very curt and very brief greeting. He’s been hunkered down in his office and even locked the door. This isn’t what Harry had in mind. At all. He might as well have stayed at home if he’s going to act like a prat. 

“Hey.”

Harry looks up from his mind-numbingly boring report to see Ron poking his head through the door.

“What’s up, mate?”

“Do you, err—” Ron closes the door behind him. “Do you have any chocolate?”

“Oh. I think I might, hold on.” He rummages through his drawers until he finds three chocolate bars. “Here,” he says, putting them on the table.

“Thank Merlin,” Ron croaks and grabs them all.

Harry leans back and watches in amusement as Ron tears the first one open. 

“These cravings, man,” he groans. “They’re driving me insane!”

Harry is about to laugh when Ron pulls a jar out of his robe pocket and dips the chocolate bar in it. 

“What is that?” Harry asks.

“Barbecue sauce,” Ron says with his mouth full.

“Ugh!”

“I swear, it’s the best thing ever.”

Harry wrinkles his nose. “So, um, how are things with Hermione?”

“Don’t ask,” Ron says. “We’re still fighting.”

“Oh.” Harry pauses. “But you’ll be fine, right? I mean, it’s just one of your fights?”

“I don’t know,” Ron sighs, finally sitting down. “It’s different this time. It’s about where we’re headed, you know? Our future.”

Harry nods, trying to conceal the dread that’s crashing down on him. If Ron and Hermione were ever to break up… 

“We’ll figure it out somehow,” Ron says, as though he’s read Harry’s mind. 

Harry smiles at him in return. “But, err… You’re still not really pregnant, right?”

“Nope,” Ron says, opening the second chocolate bar. He shoves it into the jar. And then he pauses. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’ve been so caught up in my own drama, I didn’t even ask about you!”

“It’s fine,” Harry says with a dismissive gesture. “Nothing happened.”

“What do you mean nothing happened?”

“No symptoms, nothing suddenly appeared that shouldn’t be there.” He shrugs. “Nothing.”

“Oh.”

Yeah. Oh. 

“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?” Harry asks, propping up his elbows on his desk.

“Dunno,” Ron says. “Maybe your magic is so strong, the rain doesn’t affect you.”

Harry snorts. “Nah, I don’t think that’s it.”

“I guess it could also mean you already have everything you want?”

Harry cocks his head. That’s what he asked himself as well. “Maybe,” he says. “I have no idea.” 

“Makes sense when you think about it,” Ron says, gobbling down more chocolate. “You can buy anything you want, you have the job you always wanted, you—”

“WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?”

They both jump when someone bursts into Harry’s office. It’s Parkinson.

“Where is Draco?” she asks.

Instead of answering, Ron and Harry both gape at her.

“What in Merlin’s name happened to your hair?” Harry asks. Last time he saw her, she was complaining about it, but just because it had been wet. From the rainstorm. Oh boy.

“It almost looks like Hermione’s,” Ron snorts. The amusement fades from his face the longer he looks at it. “It looks exactly like Hermione’s.” 

There’s an awkward silence where they all just stare at each other.

“Does that mean… you want to be like Hermione? Wait, do you want to  _ be  _ Hermione?” Ron’s eyes widen. “Merlin’s tits. Does that mean…” His lower lip starts quivering. And then, his voice barely a whisper, he says, “Are you in love with me?”

Parkinson blinks at him before the room is filled with her shrill laughter. 

“Oh no,” Ron groans. “Oh, Merlin. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Please, not in my office!”

Without another word, Ron darts out of the room, pressing his hand against his mouth. He’s left the remaining chocolate and the barbecue sauce on Harry’s desk. Fantastic.

“So,” Parkinson says, as though she just strolled into his office. “Where is Draco?”

“He’s in his office,” Harry says.

“It’s locked.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry sighs. “Hold on, I’m going to send him a memo.”

He scribbles down a quick note and taps it with his wand. Hopefully, Malfoy will read it. Not just because Harry wants to see him; he isn’t too keen on spending more time with Parkinson than absolutely necessary.

“Um, if it helps,” Harry says awkwardly, “I do know why, um, why your hair looks like that.”

Parkinson raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, so apparently that rainstorm in the Atrium, it, err, it reveals your deepest desire.”

Parkinson opens her mouth. And then she closes it again. “ _ What? _ ”

“Yeah, um—”

“Pansy!”

_ Malfoy _ , Harry thinks, his pulse inadvertently quickening.

“What in Salazar’s name is so important you had to—Oh my.” Malfoy’s expression is something between shock and utter amusement. “What happened to you?”

“Apparently,” she snarls, “that stupid rainstorm as Potter was just informing me!”

“Ah, I see.”

“You  _ see _ ?”

“Merlin,” Ron groans as he re-enters Harry’s office. “I might want a baby, but I’m not sure if I can make Hermione go through that.” He stops, only now realising it’s not just Harry in the room. “Oh, hey Malfoy.”

“Weasley.” Malfoy turns back to Parkinson. “So why exactly does your hair look like that?”

“Doesn’t it look like Hermione’s?” Ron whispers to him.

“Oh, Merlin,” Malfoy suddenly groans. “No!”

“What?” Ron and Harry ask at the same time.

“Fuck! Are you in love with Granger?”

Once more, the room goes completely silent.

“You are, aren’t you? You never shut up about her! And the way you talk about her—”

“If you don’t shut up in the next two seconds, I swear I’m going to staple your balls to that desk.”

“So it’s true, then,” Malfoy sighs, the same moment as Harry asks, “You know how to use a stapler?”

“Wait, so you’re in love with my wife?” Ron asks, the tip of his ears an alarming shade of purple.

Parkinson pinches the bridge of her nose. “Not that it’s any of your business,” she barks, “but I am, in fact, not in love with your wife.”

“Oh. Okay, then,” Ron says, the tension visibly leaving his shoulders. His nose, however, is still scrunched up. “But what’s with the hair, then?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Parkinson hisses, fixing Malfoy with a glare.

“Come on, let’s go to my office,” he sighs.

“Hey, Malfoy,” Harry says before he can stop himself. “Are you free later?”

“Why?” Malfoy asks, narrowing his eyes as though Harry’s question should make him suspicious. 

“So we can hang out?”

“Why would you want that?”

“Yeah, why would you want that?” Ron echoes.

“Oi,” Harry says. “We’re friends, aren’t we? And friends hang out.”

“Friends,” Parkinson snorts before Malfoy gives her a look.

“I am rather busy today,” Malfoy declares. “Maybe some other time.”

Harry watches him and Parkinson leave, wondering why Malfoy always has to be so difficult.

“I’m free later,” Ron offers.

“Great,” Harry says absentmindedly.

“Wow, it sure is nice to be appreciated by your best friend.”

“What? Oh, sorry,” Harry says sheepishly. “It’s just that… um—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m old news and Malfoy is the shiny new toy.”

“That’s not how it is, Ron!”

“Whatever,” Ron chuckles. “Lemme know if you want to go to the pub later.” 

Once Harry is alone in his office, he starts scribbling down several notes which he tosses into the bin one after the other. Maybe he should give Malfoy some space. But what if that just gives him more time to be suspicious of Harry? He genuinely likes Malfoy’s company, however shocking that might have been a couple of months ago. He likes the way they can talk to each other. He likes how he doesn’t have to pretend to be in a good mood or whatever. Is it not the same for Malfoy? Does he really not want to spend time with Harry? If that is the case… Harry tries not to be hurt by that thought, which proves to be rather difficult. They finally started being friendly with each other and Harry even discovered he doesn’t just tolerate Malfoy’s presence, it’s really nice. If only he knew how Malfoy feels about it. Because if Malfoy doesn’t enjoy Harry’s company as much… well. There’s nothing he can do about it. 

The next few days are filled with glum thoughts and questions. Why doesn’t Malfoy like him? Why doesn’t he like him when Harry can’t seem to stop thinking about the git? Is it really too much to ask for them to be friends? How did this happen? Why is this bothering Harry so much? Why is it such a surprise that Malfoy is still a gigantic prick? Why the fuck does Harry’s heart keep sinking whenever he walks past Malfoy’s office? Why does he always keep his door closed? What is he doing in there? Is he doing something he shouldn’t? With whom? 

“Argh!” Harry lets his head fall onto his desk and buries his face in the paperwork he finally finished filling out. He never realised he would miss Malfoy this much. He never realised not seeing him would weigh this heavy on his chest. He never realised being rejected by him would sting like this. 

“What are you doing? I thought you were done with taking naps at work,” a familiar voice drawls.

Harry’s head shoots up, his heart inadvertently skipping a beat. 

There, in his doorframe, stands Malfoy all snooty and arrogant. It would be much more imposing if he didn’t screw up his eyes every few seconds because his hair keeps falling into them.

“Malfoy,” Harry breathes. Is he really here? Harry isn’t just imagining him, is he? 

“Your observational skills have always been impeccable, oh mighty Saviour.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitches. Merlin, he really missed him. 

“Are you finished with those?” Malfoy asks, jerking his head towards the paperwork.

“Oh. Yeah.” Harry scoops them up and levitates them over to Malfoy’s waiting hands.

“About time.”

Harry’s heart sinks yet again. Is that why he came here? Is that the only reason?

Harry eyes him curiously as Malfoy stands there awkwardly, his arms filled with Harry’s files, looking like he’s about to say something. He doesn’t.

Several seconds pass without either of them saying anything. The back of Harry’s neck is starting to tingle and if he doesn’t speak up right now he might lose his chance and Malfoy might run and hide again and Harry doesn’t want that, he can’t stand the thought of it and he should really do something about that.

“So…” Harry starts.

“Okay, yes, fine, you can take me out for a drink!”

Harry blinks.

“One drink,” Malfoy barks. “And you’re buying!” He turns with a flourish, flinging his robes into the air in a much more dramatic fashion than the situation warrants. And then he’s gone.

Harry stares after him, his mind completely blank. 

“What the fuck just happened?” 

* * *

If Harry had to guess, he’d say Malfoy is utterly and absolutely uncomfortable. That’s probably why he keeps downing his drinks as though he’s been wandering the desert for three days. 

“One more,” Malfoy says in a demanding tone while raising his empty glass.

Harry looks at him in amusement before he gets up to go to the bar. “I thought you said you only wanted one drink.”

“We’re way past that,” Malfoy says, shaking his head.

“Obviously,” Harry sniggers. He returns with two tumblers of fresh firewhisky, chuckling when Malfoy practically wrenches the one he’s holding out to him out of his hand.

“Good stuff,” Malfoy says after taking a gulp. 

“I didn’t realise we’re getting pissed tonight,” Harry says with a grin.

“Who says we are?” Malfoy retorts. He’s starting to slur and his eyes are a little glazed over.

“Okay, this is the last one.”

“You’re not the boss of me, Potter!”

“No, but I would very much like you to return home in one piece.”

Malfoy huffs and takes another gulp. A big gulp. Holy shit, his glass is empty.

“Merlin, you’re not going to be able to Apparate, are you?”

“Of course I am,” Malfoy says, waving a dismissive hand in front of Harry’s face.

“You’re really, really not,” Harry snorts. “Come on, I’ll get you home safely.”

“Saint Potter,” Malfoy spits while Harry helps him get up. “Always there to save the day. Ugh.”

“Come on. That’s it, one foot in front of the other.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Potter!”

“Do you want to go home to your bed or not?”

Malfoy reaches for his arm and squints at him. “Hmmmm. Bed.”

“That’s what I thought,” Harry grunts as he drags Malfoy outside. “Okay, here we go. Ready?”

“Hmmmm.”

Harry pulls Malfoy closer to him but pauses when Malfoy puts his head on Harry’s shoulder. 

“Hmmmm. You smell nice, Potter. All… manly and shit.”

After an initial moment of shock, Harry bursts out laughing. “Thanks? I guess? Okay, here we go.”

Apparating with a drunk person is always risky. They might try to fight you or get sick on you. Luckily, Malfoy does neither. At least until they land, rather ungracefully, on the floor of Malfoy’s bedroom.

“Ugh! Oh Merlin—Merlin—”

“Are you going to be sick?” Harry asks, patting Malfoy’s back.

“I—I—I think—Ugh!” Malfoy heaves, his eyes shut tight. Harry starts rubbing circles on his back, having absolutely no clue what else he’s supposed to do. “Oh Merlin, I—I think—” Malfoy heaves again. And then he pauses. “Oh, you know what, nevermind.”

Harry shakes his head, unable to not be amused. “So you’re fine?”

Malfoy scrunches up his nose. “I think so. Wait, where are we?”

“We’re in your bedroom.”

This seems to catch him off guard. He blinks at Harry, as though he’s deciding if he’s a mirage.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

Malfoy blinks at him again and Harry could swear his cheeks just turned a little more rosy.

“Okay,” he murmurs. He lets Harry help him get up, and together they wobble over to his bed. “Get me my pyjamas,” Malfoy says as soon as he’s sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Get them yourself,” Harry chuckles. “I don’t even know where they are.”

“Are you a wizard or not?” 

“You really enjoy bossing me around, don’t you?” Harry sighs. “Accio Malfoy’s pyjamas.”

They come floating out of the dresser.

“Turn around,” Malfoy orders, to which Harry complies.

He’s staring at the wall, trying not to think about the fact that Malfoy is getting undressed behind him. 

“Err, you know what, I should probably go now,” Harry says. “I just wanted to make sure you got home safely and—”

“You’re going? Where?” Malfoy asks, his tone, somehow, almost sounds disappointed. 

“Uh… home?”

“But we are home.”

In spite of himself, Harry laughs. “Yeah, your home. This isn’t my home, remember?”

Malfoy says nothing to that. He must be really out of it.

“Okay, so if you’re all settled, I’ll just—” Harry breaks off, his entire body going rigid when he feels a hesitant touch on his hand.

“Please don’t go.”

Slowly, Harry turns around, a little gasp escaping his mouth at the sight before him. Malfoy actually managed to put on his pyjamas, but the top is unbuttoned, revealing his pale chest and his stomach.

“Stay,” Malfoy murmurs, his eyes locked with Harry’s.

“Malfoy,” Harry starts, his heart suddenly beating ten times faster. “You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I want you to stay.” Malfoy lets out a breath. “Please.”

Harry knows he shouldn’t. He really does. But how the hell is he supposed to say no? Especially when Malfoy is giving him  _ that look _ ? 

“Okay, fine,” he grunts and shrugs off his jacket. He scrunches it up into a ball, intending to use it as a pillow.

“What are you doing?” Malfoy asks when Harry starts to lay down on the floor.

“I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

“No,” Malfoy says, shaking his head stubbornly. Before Harry can ask what he’s talking about, Malfoy scoots back on the mattress. Oh. Yeah, no, that’s definitely not a good idea.

“Malfoy, I really think—”

“Come here,” Malfoy says, stretching out his hand to Harry. 

Harry stares at it, unsure of what to do. 

“Come here,” Malfoy says once more.

Harry bites his lower lip, hoping the dull pain will help him snap out of it. It doesn’t. Against his better judgement, he pulls himself up and crawls onto the bed. He slowly lays down, next to Malfoy, the back of his neck tingling at the close proximity of their faces. Malfoy’s eyes are closed. But he’s smiling. Dear god. He lets out a breath that smells of firewhisky, reminding Harry that he shouldn’t do anything Malfoy wouldn’t approve of if he were sober. Wait. Why would he do anything that—

Harry shakes his head, willing himself once more to snap out of it. Maybe he’s a little drunk, too. Maybe that’s why he thinks this is kind of nice.

“I can’t remember the last time I shared a bed with someone,” he murmurs. And immediately feels embarrassed. But Malfoy still has his eyes closed, still has that little smile on his face. Maybe he’s already asleep. That’s the only reason Harry says, “I didn’t realise how much I missed it.” He lets out a sigh, unprepared for the sudden longing that’s crashing down on him. “You know, I would really like to fall in love again. I’m so ready. Because I’m so over all the meaningless shags.” He lets out another sigh. “I just want somebody to fall asleep with, to wake up to, to share my life with. Someone who sees me for who I am and actually wants me for who—” He breaks off, choking on his own words. “God, why is it so hard to find love? Is it really too much to ask to find someone who… just makes me feel things?” His eyes wander over Malfoy’s face, his long eyelashes, his pale hair. “Is it so wrong, wanting to find someone I’ll never grow tired of looking at?” he says while gazing at Malfoy’s flushed cheeks. 

He closes his eyes and pushes one of his hands beneath the pillow. He pauses when his fingertips brush against something warm. His eyes snap open again when he realises it’s Malfoy’s hand. He blinks, his eyes zeroing in on Malfoy’s face again. The smile has been replaced by a frown. Is he dreaming about something unpleasant? 

Careful not to wake him, Harry lets his fingertips brush against Malfoy’s hand once more. They tingle upon the touch.

“That’s what I want,” he whispers. “Someone who makes my body tingle, who drives me insane. Who—” He gulps. Oh. “Maybe you could be that someone,” Harry quips. “I already can’t stop thinking about you, so…” He snorts, mentally slapping himself. He rolls onto his back and blinks at the ceiling. “Merlin, what am I saying?” He turns back on his side, deciding that he definitely needs some sleep. But then he freezes. Malfoy. Malfoy is awake. And he’s staring at him. 

“Uh. Hi,” Harry says lamely. “I thought you were sleeping.”

Malfoy doesn’t say anything and Harry can’t help but squirm under his intense stare. Is he mad? Is he going to kick Harry out? Is he—Oh!

Harry’s mouth falls open when he feels Malfoy’s hand under the pillow. It is sliding against Harry’s and oh so carefully, Malfoy wraps it around Harry’s hand.

Stunned, Harry blinks at him. Before he can ask what he’s doing, Malfoy’s eyes flutter shut, leaving Harry and his pounding heart with a million questions. But it can’t mean anything, can it? Malfoy is drunk and probably has no idea what is happening. He probably didn’t even hear what Harry said. Or did he? Why did Harry even say those things? And… did he mean them? It was kind of a spur of the moment thing. But, with a jolt, Harry realises it wasn’t a lie. He really can’t stop thinking about Malfoy. And he’s just now beginning to wonder why. He never felt like this about Ron or Hermione. Merlin, but Malfoy doesn’t want that with him! He’s only holding Harry’s hand because he’s had too much firewhisky. He’s been avoiding him, reluctant to spend any time with him whatsoever. If that isn’t a clear message, Harry doesn’t know what is. Damn it, this is so like him; starting to like the one person who would never feel like that about him in return. So much for being ready for love. 

He scrunches up his eyes and accidentally squeezes Malfoy’s hand. Ugh. He should probably keep his distance from now on. To protect himself. Honestly, he should go home right now. But Malfoy’s hand is so warm and soft and his bed is really comfortable and you know what, right now it doesn’t matter if Harry drowns himself in self-pity in Malfoy’s bed or his own, so might as well stay where he is. Just for tonight.

* * *

Waking up with a hangover is never fun. Especially when you don’t expect to have one. The nausea and the throbbing in his head assault Harry out of nowhere, making him wince. He buries his face in his pillow… and pauses. It smells… different. It smells… like something that makes his chest tighten. In a good way? Slowly, oh so slowly, he opens his eyes and blinks at the unfamiliar surroundings. Yeah, this is definitely not his flat. Why is he—Oh. That’s right. Malfoy. 

Slightly panicking, Harry looks around, only to find he’s alone in the bedroom. Good. Okay, good. That means he can freak out in peace. Oh god. Why did he say all those things last night? 

“Ugh!” 

Malfoy was awake. Right? He was looking at Harry. But he was completely pissed. There’s a good chance he doesn’t remember any of it. Right? That’s absolutely plausible. RIGHT?

“Oh god,” Harry groans, massaging his temples. This is a nightmare. Leave it to him to get drunk with his former nemesis turned friend to realise he might harbour some sort of very unexpected—

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Harry’s head whips up, his pulse kicking into overdrive as he sees Malfoy standing in the doorway. He grabs his glasses and puts them on. Malfoy’s holding a tray with two cups and plates on it. 

“Oh my god, coffee,” Harry says, momentarily forgetting about his crisis. Coffee sounds really good right now.

Malfoy snorts. “Who would have thought you’re so easy to please.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say no to a Hangover Potion if you’ve got one,” Harry grimaces.

“What do you take me for, Potter? An amateur?” He moves closer and jerks his chin towards two little vials sitting next to the cups on the tray.

“Thank Merlin,” Harry groans. Unthinkingly, he gives Malfoy a smile. A big one. That’s when the second unexpected thing of the morning happens.

Malfoy freezes, a look of utter shock on his face as he stares at Harry. 

“What?” Harry manages to say before Malfoy drops the tray and it crashes down onto the floor.

“You—You—”

“What? What is it?” Harry asks, suddenly alarmed. Malfoy’s hands are shaking, his face is ashen and he is slowly retreating.

“You—Your—”

“Malfoy, what is it?” Harry says, jumping to his feet. He regrets it immediately, almost overpowered by nausea. 

“I—I need to go,” Malfoy stammers.

“What?” Harry frowns. “Where?”

“I just, um—” He shakes his head, as though he’s trying to shake off the utter terror that seems to have possessed him.

“What’s going on? What’s wrong?” Harry tries again.

“I—I can’t,” is all that Malfoy says before he darts out of the room.

Harry stares after him in bewilderment. What just happened? He contemplates going after Malfoy, but the way he acted was so strange. It almost looked like he was afraid of Harry. Maybe he’s still a little drunk? Maybe Harry should give him some space. 

He eyes the vials on the floor, wondering if it would be rude to take one. 

“Ugh.” Grimacing, he grabs his jacket and his wand and Apparates back to his flat. He plops down on his bed and stares at the ceiling. Out of all the possible ways this morning could have gone, this is probably a worst-case scenario. If only he knew what made Malfoy run for the hills.

* * *

A quick nap and several cups of coffee later, Harry is pacing in his living room. Something’s off, that much is clear. But he can’t figure out why Malfoy reacted the way he did. He needs help.

Nodding to himself, he strides over to his fireplace and takes a bit of Floo powder. A few seconds later, he steps out into Ron and Hermione’s living room. And pauses.

“—but you have to be thorough. And then we can talk about your business plan.”

Harry blinks at the strange sight before him; Hermione and Pansy Parkinson are sitting on the floor, dozens of folders and papers scattered around them.

“Err.”

They both look up.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Oh, we were just going through some—Harry, what happened to your eye?”

“My eye?” Harry frowns at Hermione. His gaze wanders over to Parkinson, who is giving him a curious look. “Oh, hey, your hair is back to normal.”

She scowls at him before she gets up and clears her throat. “I should be going,” she announces. “Thanks, Hermione. You’re a gem.”

“Anytime,” Hermione smiles and waves at her as she vanishes in the fireplace.

“Um… Did I say something wrong?” Harry says, scratching the back of his head.

Hermione chuckles. “She’s just a bit tetchy about the hair thing.”

“I see. But since when are you two friends?”

“Turns out,” Ron says as he suddenly appears from the kitchen, “Parkinson’s hair looked like Hermione’s because she wanted to be as smart as her.”

Harry laughs at Ron’s smugness.

“She’s lucky my wife is so compassionate and agreed to help her with her business or whatever,” Ron grins, throwing an arm around Hermione’s shoulder. She looks at him with a mixture of fondness and chastisement and kisses him on the cheek.

“Well, she said she’d design a dress for me, so it’s like I’m getting paid,” Hermione says.

Ron rolls his eyes. “They’ve been at it for days,” he says to Harry.

“You seem a lot more chipper,” Harry notes. “No more cravings?”

“No more pregnancy symptoms, actually,” Ron says proudly.

“Oh! That’s great!” He hesitates. “Right?”

“It is,” Hermione says.

“So did they just… go away?”

“They did after we talked some more about it,” Ron says, smiling fondly at Hermione. 

“I had no idea Ron would be willing to be a stay-at-home dad,” she says.

“So now… we’re working on it,” he says with a wink.

“Oh god,” Harry laughs, feeling only a little mortified. “That’s great!”

“It is,” Ron agrees. And then he cocks his head. “What’s wrong with your eye, mate?” He lets go of Hermione and steps closer to Harry, invading his personal space. 

“What?” Harry says, leaning away instinctively. 

Ron grabs his face with both hands and examines his eyes. “Why is one of your eyes blue?” 

Harry stares at him, not understanding what he’s saying. And then, Ron gasps.

“Mother of Merlin!” He lets go of Harry’s face and clasps both hands over his mouth. “Are you—” He takes a deep breath. “Harry. Are you in love with me?”

“Ron,” Hermione admonishes, “will you please stop asking people if they’re in love with you?”

“But he—he—Look!”

Hermione shakes her head but steps forward to take a closer look at Harry’s face.

“It’s clearly not the same shade as yours,” she says after a moment. “It’s more… muted. Almost… grey.”

Harry blinks at them, still at a complete loss.

“Merlin’s tits,” Ron suddenly shouts. 

“What?” Harry says, getting more and more irritated.

“Who do we know who has grey eyes?” he says exasperatedly. “I can only think of one person!”

“Oh, you’re right,” Hermione says. “Not really a surprise, though, is it?”

Ron makes a face but seems to agree with her.

“Can somebody please—” In his frustration, Harry stomps his foot.

“Harry,” Hermione says, clearly trying to sound soothing, “the rainstorm. In the Atrium.”

Harry stares at her. The rainstorm? Oh. What? Oh. But—

“I don’t have any symptoms,” he says.

“You  _ didn’t  _ have any symptoms,” Ron corrects, “until now.” 

Harry doesn’t know what to say. Is Ron right? 

“Come with me, Harry,” Hermione says. She takes his hand and Harry lets himself be led into the bathroom. “Look for yourself,” she says, positioning him in front of the mirror.

For the first time since he woke up, Harry sees his reflection. It makes his jaw drop.

“What—What—” He leans forward, examining his eyes. The right one looks just like always. Green and tired. But the left one… “Oh my god.” Experimentally, Harry closes his right eye. 

“You see it, don’t you?” Hermione whispers. “It looks just like Malfoy’s.”

“Ugh,” Ron groans from the doorway.

She’s right. Hermione is right. It does look exactly like Malfoy’s. It’s almost as though Harry is gazing into  _ his  _ eye, if it weren’t for Harry’s glasses, reminding him that this is indeed his own eye. This is so confusing.

“Why is this happening now, though?” Harry wonders aloud, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Did something happen last night?” Ron asks.

“Err…”

“Bugger!”

“Nothing  _ really  _ happened,” Harry says hastily. “Oh god. Oh—Damn it. I have to go see him. Do you think I should go see him? I should, right? I mean—Oh my god, he completely freaked out this morning.”

“This morning?” Ron echoes. “What were you doing seeing Malfoy this morning? Oh, Merlin! Don’t tell me you—”

“Do you think he knows what it means? He totally does, doesn’t he? I mean, he’s clever. He must have figured it out. Does that mean he—Oh god. Hermione, do you think—”

“I think you should go talk to him,” she says with a reassuring smile.

“Yes, yes. I should go talk to him. Damage control.”

“No, Harry, that’s not what I—”

“Okay, I’m gonna go there now. Thank you! I’ll talk to you later, I have to go!”

“Of course you do,” Ron groans, but Harry is already gone.

* * *

“Oh, it’s you,” Parkinson says after opening the door.

“Err… Hello. Again.”

“Draco is in the shower. He’ll be out in a minute.”

“Um. Okay.”

She rolls her eyes and gestures for him to come inside. 

“I swear to Merlin, Potter, if you break his heart, I’m going to murder you in your sleep. I just designed some new heels that will make it very painful for you and very satisfying for me.”

“Err—” Harry blinks at her. “Wow, you’re, um, you’re a good friend. I guess,” he says awkwardly. 

She gives him a sceptical look. “Alright. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.” She raises her index finger warningly. “This time.”

Harry presses his lips together and nods.

“If I hear about even one tear on his face, you’re Hippogriff-dinner, Potter.”

And with that, she strides over to the door, banging it shut on her way out.

“God, that woman is scary,” Harry mutters. He lets out a sigh and walks over to the sofa, sitting down on the edge, ready to jump up at any second. He stays seated, however, when Malfoy finally emerges from the bathroom. Steam curls around him and he looks uncharacteristically relaxed in his big white fluffy bathrobe. He freezes after a few steps, his face full of shock once more.

“Potter,” he breathes.

“Hey,” Harry smiles uncomfortably. “Sorry for dropping by unannounced. I, err—” He swallows, unsure of what to say.

Malfoy just continues to stare at him.

“So, um, funny story,” Harry fake-laughs. “Turns out I was affected by the rainstorm after all?” He points at his left eye.

“Yes, I—I noticed,” Malfoy says carefully.

“It’s not what you think, though,” Harry says. He watches as Malfoy’s face turns from shocked to… sour?

“Oh, so you know what I’m thinking?” he says, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Well, you totally freaked out this morning when you saw, so I’m assuming that you think it means I—um—well. It’s not like that, though. You don’t have to worry about it. You don’t have to worry about anything. Everything’s fine.” Harry has always been a terrible liar, so he can’t tell if he’s doing a good job or not.

Well. If Malfoy’s face is anything to go by, he probably fucked up.

“So… the things you said last night,” Malfoy says quietly, letting his arms fall back to his side and staring at the floor.

“Oh,” Harry says, his heart skipping a beat. “You remember? I mean… you heard that?”

Malfoy says nothing, his eyes glued to his feet.

“I—I was drunk, okay? I didn’t know what I was saying,” Harry blurts. He has to try to fix this. He can’t ruin their friendship.

“I see,” Malfoy says, his expression stony. “Well, now that you’ve cleared that up…”

“Oh.” So Malfoy wants him to go? Already? “I was hoping we could get some lunch?”

Harry flinches when Malfoy scowls at him.

“Lunch?” he says through gritted teeth. “You want to  _ get lunch _ ?”

Harry leans back when Malfoy is suddenly right there in front of him, snarling at him.

“Fuck you, Potter! You can shove all your lunches up your—”

Harry doesn’t hear the rest of his sentence; something else caught his attention. Something on Malfoy’s forehead.

“What’s—What’s that?” he asks.

It takes a moment for Malfoy to understand what Harry is pointing at. His right hand darts up to his forehead, pushing his hair down on it.

“Wait, let me see.”

“No,” Malfoy says, immediately backing away. 

“Malfoy,” Harry breathes, his entire body vibrating with his erratic heartbeat. “Is that what I think it is?”

“No?” Malfoy croaks.

“It is, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Harry slowly gets up, but for every step he takes forward, Malfoy takes one backwards.

“Malfoy,” he repeats. “Please let me see it.”

“No. You can’t.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Malfoy,” Harry says softly, feeling dizzy. Malfoy’s back is pressed against the wall, leaving him no more room to escape. “Please.”

Malfoy’s lips are pressed into a thin line. He looks terrified.

Without thinking too much about it, Harry reaches out and gently removes Malfoy’s hand from his forehead. He’s surprised Malfoy isn’t resisting. He does look like he’s going to throw up, though.

Harry takes a deep breath before he finally brushes Malfoy’s bangs out of the way, revealing what he apparently has been hiding since they were caught in the rainstorm. At least that’s what Harry assumes.

“What—” Harry swallows. “What does that mean?”

“It means nothing,” Malfoy murmurs.

Harry frowns. “It means  _ something _ ,” he insists.

“You need to leave, Potter.”

“No, I’m not going anywhere. Not until you tell me why you have  _ my fucking scar _ on your forehead!”

“Fine,” Malfoy yells. “If you’re not going, I’m going!”

“This is your flat,” Harry deadpans.

“Ugh! You’re impossible,” Malfoy grunts. He shoves Harry away and reaches into the pocket of his bathrobe. 

Harry only sees a glimpse of Malfoy’s wand before he vanishes right in front of him.

Feeling utterly defeated, Harry sinks down to his knees. Does this truly mean what he thinks it means? Dare he hope? Why is Malfoy being so complicated, though? Ugh. This is such a mess.

* * *

When waiting for Malfoy to come back turned out to be a fruitless mission, Harry returned to his own flat, driving himself up the wall. It was a truly disastrous Sunday. 

But today is Monday, which means going back to work. Which means he can lie in wait for Malfoy. Which is exactly what he’s doing. Most people are still working from home, but he’s hoping Malfoy will show up in one of the fireplaces. The Atrium is safe now, the rainstorm is gone. They must have fixed it over the weekend.

Harry’s shoulders tense when one of the fireplaces roars to life and someone steps out of it.

“AHA!” Harry jumps out of the shadows, almost making Malfoy tumble right back into the fireplace.

“What the—” Malfoy’s fury turns into something else when he realises who is standing in front of him.

“I figured you couldn’t avoid me forever,” Harry says smugly.

“I can try,” Malfoy snaps, sidestepping him.

“Nope, that’s not gonna happen,” Harry says, grabbing his arm. He gives Malfoy a pleading look. “It means something,” he says lamely.

“Oh, so this means something,” Malfoy snarls, pushing away his hair, “but the colour of your eye changing doesn’t mean anything?”

“I, err—” Harry gulps. Now is the moment. If he doesn’t say something now… “I—I only said that because I thought—I thought—” He lets go of Malfoy’s arm and shakes his head. “I honestly thought you didn’t, um—”

“I didn’t what?” Malfoy snaps.

Harry lets out a sigh, trying to gather all his courage. “Look, the things I said… that night. I lied. I knew exactly what I was saying. And I—I meant them. I just—I was confused, okay? I didn’t know I felt that way about you… until then.” He bites the inside of his cheek. “And I was so convinced you didn’t feel the same way about me. You were avoiding me and I thought that meant you didn’t want to spend any time with me, didn’t want anything to do with me, but then you agreed to having drinks and I thought maybe you had changed your mind but you only wanted to be friends and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, because I like our friendship and I would rather have you as a friend than not at all and realising that I like you made it all worse and then this eye thing happened and then you freaked out and I didn’t understand why and I thought maybe you were freaking out because you thought I liked you and you didn’t like me back and that’s why I said it didn’t mean anything. But then I saw your scar, I mean, my scar on your forehead and I have absolutely no clue what that means. I mean, I know what I want it to mean, but I don’t know if that’s actually what it means and you won’t talk to me, so what the hell am I supposed to do?” 

Harry takes several gulps of air, only realising then that he’s been rambling. He stares at Malfoy, who is staring right back at him, looking gobsmacked.

“Um. Hello?” Harry says, waving a hand in front of Malfoy’s face.

“You—You would rather have me as a friend than not at all?” he whispers.

“Oh my god, that’s what you took away from all that?” Harry groans. He’s ready to make another passionate speech, but Malfoy suddenly sinks down to his knees and buries his face in his hands. He’s making weird noises and—Oh god, is he crying?

“Malfoy?” Harry tries carefully. 

Malfoy’s shoulders are shaking and Harry is starting to panic, until he realises Malfoy isn’t crying. He’s… laughing?

“For fuck’s sake, Potter,” Malfoy croaks, suddenly looking serious again. “Why do you always have to play the selfless hero?”

“What? I—I’m not—”

“Of course this means something, you  _ idiot _ ,” he yells, pointing at the scar. “And yes, it means exactly what you think it means,  _ for fuck’s sake _ !”

Harry looks at him, stunned. “Oh.” He helps Malfoy to his feet. “But—But why did you freak out, then? When you saw my eye?”

“I was panicking, okay?” Malfoy shouts.

“Why were you panicking?”

“Because I never thought you would like me like that! And I was fine with that, I had already made my peace with it.” Malfoy looks down at the floor. “A long time ago.”

Harry blinks, trying to understand what Malfoy is saying. “What?” He can feel himself tremble. “So. Wait. What you’re saying is… Hold on. What? Are you saying you’ve liked me all this time?”

“Your words, not mine,” Malfoy murmurs, still avoiding Harry’s gaze.

“Malfoy,” Harry says softly, putting a finger under his chin and lifting his head. “Look at me. Look at my eyes.”

Malfoy does, his gaze so much softer than Harry expected. 

“It’s right there, my, um, my deepest desire,” he whispers. He shudders when Malfoy inhales sharply, his gaze intensifying. Instinctively, he lifts his fingers and lets them ghost over Malfoy’s forehead. “I really, really do like you,” he says.

He blinks and almost snorts when Malfoy makes a sound he would undoubtedly describe as unbecoming, but he has no time. Malfoy is suddenly in his arms, his hands in Harry’s hair and their lips pressed together.

“Oh!” Harry quickly closes his eyes and puts his hands on Malfoy’s back, pulling him closer. His lips are soft and warm and Harry never thought he’d get to feel them on his, so this is really fucking spectacular.

“God, we’re both so stupid,” Harry laughs after a moment.

“Don’t call me stupid,” Malfoy says before pulling him into another kiss.

That only makes Harry laugh more. 

“Look at you two lovebirds! Finally!”

They both look up to find Blaise Zabini standing right next to them.

“No need to thank me,” he announces. “I’ll take a fruit basket instead. But maybe make it firewhisky instead of fruit.”

“What in Merlin’s name are you on about?” Malfoy asks, raising an eyebrow.

“My invention,” Zabini booms, producing a vial from the inside of his Unspeakable robes. “I call it Breakable Heaven!”

“What?” Harry says.

“I will make a fortune with this!” He quickly clears his throat. “Now that I finally know how to get it under control and make the clouds disappear.”

“What?” Malfoy snaps, narrowing his eyes. “That was you? You made the rainstorm?”

Zabini grins. “I’ll be so rich!”

“You’re already rich,” Malfoy says exasperatedly.

“That’s hardly the point,” Zabini says with a dismissive gesture. 

“The point is,” Harry says, “you created havoc in the Ministry!”

“Everything has its price,” Zabini shrugs. “Besides, it brought you two together, didn’t it?”

Harry bites his lip. “Well. He’s not wrong,” he says to Malfoy.

“If you will excuse me,” Zabini says with another grin, “I have an appointment at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Ta!”

“Merlin, we can’t let him sell it! You have to talk to Weasley,” Malfoy says heatedly.

“Yeah, I’m not sure if George will listen to me,” Harry says. “But maybe we can talk to Hermione and she can, I don’t know, do some legal stuff so they won’t get the final approval?”

Malfoy sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I should have known I have to do everything by myself.”

“Well, there are certain things that are more fun when you aren’t by yourself,” Harry says, stepping closer and wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Merlin, I also should have known you would be impossible about this. Rule number one—”

“There are rules?”

“—no canoodling at work!”

Harry snorts. “Did you just say canoodling?”

“I’m serious, Potter. I’m a professional.”

“Well, we already broke that rule a minute ago. So it really wouldn’t hurt if we—”

“Potter!”

Harry laughs as he scoops Malfoy up in his arms and his protest quickly turns into laughter as well. He pulls him into a kiss that makes him hopeful for the future. Maybe he will send Zabini some bloody firewhisky after all.

  
  



End file.
